The Mutare Possibilitas
by Winter M
Summary: Xander was tired of attracting demon women so someone decided to fix that little problem for him… only it wasn't quite what one would expect. WARNING: this story does involve a magical sex change and SLASH.
1. Chapter One

Title: The Mutare Possibilitas (1/?)

Author: Winter M.

Rating: PG/PG-13 (for language, might go up)

Spoilers: S.7 of BtVS, set directly after "First Date"

Pairing: Xander/Spike eventually

Warnings: Slash (eventually), magical sex change (if that squicks you please don't read, if not then welcome ;))

Summary: Xander was tired of attracting all the demony women so someone else decided to fix that little problem for him… only it wasn't quite what one would expect.

A/N:I started posting this over in my livejournal and thought i'd see if it picked up an audience here as well. Updates might be a bit sporadic but i feel it in my bones that i'm going to finish this one lol.All feedback/suggestions are welcome.

It sucked, and not in a good wholesome fun for the whole family, or even just for specific body parts, kind of way. Oh no, it sucked in a sucky, ouch this i _hurts _damnit, kind of way. The sort that jarred with every footstep he took down the dark main street, sporadically lit by hazy golden streetlamps and a smattering of stars able to peek through the thin veil of smog covering the sky. It hurt almost badly enough to make him regret not having taken Buffy up on her offer to drive him home. Almost, but defiantly not quite; it hurt but he wasn't quite delusional yet.

It wasn't even as if it were the worse injuring he had ever sustained before either, kind of small and inconspicuous except for the foot wide, glaringly white gauze wrap pulled taut across his stomach, that was a bit obvious. But i _otherwise _it was just a little stomach wound. Which was the problem, they could be small but wasn't it always said that getting shot in the stomach was worse, took the longest time to kill you and just sort of festered for a long time before actually getting done with it. So he may be far from actually dying but, _ouch_.

"Nice night."

Xander stopped short at the voice off to his right. Sighing softly he turned slowly to face whatever had decided to pick on him tonight, one hand surreptitiously grabbing for the stake hidden under his coat. Pasting a wide fake grin on his face he met the steady gaze of… Joe Average. Medium height, sandy colored hair, bland brown eyes; great, this is just what he needed after tonight. "Why hello, is there something I could i _possibly _do for _you_ tonight? Maybe dinner? Or how about summoning up our own juicy portal?"

The man smiled slightly and shoved off from the wall he had been leaning against. Silent footsteps against the rough black pavement and he was clutching even tighter at the smooth wooden handle of the stake. His heart tried to speed up at the same time his body just wanted to collapse into bed and sleep everything off. Forget about the dismal failure the night had ended up for awhile. The stranger stopped a few feet away and studied him for a minute or two in silence.

He could tell that the man's eyes were hazel, the weak starlight glinting off them oddly as he studied him. It was a really unnerving sort of study, the kind that made your skin crawl a bit because you could swear the person was seeing what you looked like naked. This one was no exception, making his Scooby-sense try to stand up on end on the back of his neck. Shivering, Xander took a step away and brought the stake into view at his side, heart saying the hell with exhaustion and speeding up wildly.

A heavy ring shone in the light when the man held up his hands, empty, placating, "No harm, I just wished to—"

Suspicion, perhaps even a bit of hysteria creeping into his voice, "Wished to what?"

The shadows played tricks with the planes of the man's face, lengthening them and cutting the features sharper, cleaner and more defined, less Average Joe, "Grant your wish."

Never a good sign, when a stranger comes up to you in the darkened street not three blocks from your apartment building and tells you he wants to grant your wish. Wait, "What wish?"

Definitely a slight smiley shaped smirk there, "It's complicated, but I've heard your plight and I'm here to offer you a different path than the one you've taken thus far."

"Is this where you whip out the crumbling old piece of parchment and feather pen which you then use to prick my finger? Cause buddy, not really in the mood to sign my soul away to the other side tonight." He snorted and gestured at his stomach wound, "Kind of off putting—the whole stabbing, opening portal thing."

The smile grew wider and he looked down for a moment before meeting Xander's eyes, "That's not what I'm offering. Far from it really."

Taking a slightly more defensive stance, "Then what i _are _you offering?"

He tucked his hands into the pockets of his casual black slacks and hunched his shoulders a little as he stepped a bit to the right, a little bit closer and Xander was stepping away a little bit more himself. The man glanced up at him and the slight was definitely not right where it shined upon his face, it shouldn't have lit up the golden green amongst the hazel like that, no way, no way human.

"I'm offering you a chance to become what you could have been. Nothing more and no strings."

He shook his head, "Nu uh, you know I dated a girl who tried that once, well, not for herself it was for someone else, sort of," he frowned but kept going, "point is, screwing with reality and time and whatever, doesn't ever really turn out so well. So, if that's all—"

"I'm not talking about time and I certainly wouldn't be… screwing much with reality as you put it." He moved closer still, "Don't tell me you're not even the least bit interested?"

Xander paused, his mind whirling over the proposed offer, finally coming up with the obvious, "You still haven't answered my question."

"You know, they were right, you're far too stubborn for your own good," the stranger's mouth tightened a bit, "I'm offering you something of great worth, a chance to fulfill the potential denied to you. Isn't that what you've always wanted?"

"Strange how wishing and wishing and wanting something other than what you've got I _also _never seems to go so—"

The loud sigh brought him up short as the man closed the distance between them in a blink, grasping one of Xander's arms and jerking him a little to the left, "Look up."

Tensing under the hand, he really wished the man hadn't gone for the arm holding his only source of weapon, pinning his arm between them. Resigned he glanced up into the inky curtain of sky, "What am I looking for?" the voice was close to his ear, too close for comfort really, it chilled his skin even though temperature wise it felt like your average, everyday breath. _Magic _, magic tingled in it, icy and electrifying and it made a slight breeze spring up around them, ruffling his hair and blowing it into his eyes.

"A new perspective… a new perspective."

That's when the world twisted and warped and the cement was really cold this time of night, even in California…

TBC


	2. Chapter Two

Title: The Mutare Possibilitas (2/?)

Author: Winter M.

Rating: PG/PG-13 (for language, might go up)

Spoilers: S.7 of BtVS, set directly after "First Date"

Pairing: Xander/Spike eventually

Warnings: Slash (eventually), magical sex change (if that squicks you please don't read, if not then welcome ;))

Summary: Xander was tired of attracting all the demony women so someone else decided to fix that little problem for him… only it wasn't quite what one would expect.

A/N: I don't generally do very well with long stories but I'm really going to try with this one. All feedback/suggestions are welcome.

"Bleaggnh," god he hurt. That horribly stabbing itch of his stomach wound was rather pleasant in retrospect to how he felt now. Everything ached, joints feeling like they'd been stretched out and shoved back together at odd angles, his head pounded _thud thud thud _in his temple like something heavy in the washing machine when it gets stuck on one of the blade things. The back of his head smarted where he had connected with the cement, and damn it was cold.

He shivered and contemplated opening his eyes. The lack of seeming restraints and sunlight seemed to suggest that it was still night in main street but really one had to see for themselves after… after whatever had happened to him. And he might have done the smart thing and looked around wildly before scrambling up and away, back to the warm cozy, vamp infested status of his apartment. He would have, if his face hadn't felt so mutilated, punched in, squeezed and pinched until he bet the bleached—crazy—wonder wouldn't even recognize him by the time he got to stumbling home.

Everything felt wrong, warped, his bones ached, and his skin felt extra sensitive. Groaning because at least that was some sign that life still went on, and he was a bit afraid of finding out what had been done to him. "Oh god." His voice croaked terribly and winced at the rawness of his throat. He was trying to gain the strength to open his eyes when he froze—well, more.

His eyes flew open despite the gritty pull and tug against his eyelashes. Forcing his hands up to eyelevel he starred in shock at them, the much smaller palms and the delicate fingers, rather average looking hands except for the fact that they weren't _his_. "Shit."

An involuntary groan was drug from his numb feeling lips as he forced himself to sit up a little, bracing himself on his elbows even though the joints protested. Wide eyes looked down, the glassy dark brown a bit crazed in the lightening moonlight, "Oh shit." His jeans were bagging and he felt like he was practically swimming in them, as well as his boots which he could feel were almost off. But what really did it was the way his coat—easily several sized to large—had slipped open to reveal his stomach covered in the white bandage, now loose and of little help, but above that…

He shivered as the wind blew around him, whipping his hair—longish hair!—around his face and into his shocked mouth. Frantically he pulled the edges of the coat around his bear chest and tried to remember how to breathe, "Oh this is _so_ not what I needed." His hands shook as he tucked his arms tightly across his chest, too small, too slender.

Against the pounding in his head he sat up fully and looked frantically around, breath still whooshing in and out of him. The immediate area seemed safe for the moment but he was stupid, the status quo here could change in an instant and he really didn't think he could deal with anything else right at the moment. His body lurched drunkenly as he tried to stand, his feet slipped in the wide interiors of his clunky boots and he had to make a grab for his jeans before they slid from their precarious perch on hips.

"Just—just don't think about it. This is not safe, not safe at _all. _Just get home, I can do this, right," his fingers fumbled with the buckle of his belt, jerking it out of the belt loops and flicking the tongue out of its hole. Jerky movements and he had pulled it tight around his waist only to find that the holes didn't extend so far down the worn brown leather.

He went to rub a hand over his face in frustration but stopped at the last minute, too hard to ignore something while you're touching it, when you can feel it from both ways. Instead he quickly tied the belt together in a rough knot, closing the jacket tighter across his chest, he wrapped his arms tightly around his body, not really caring at the moment what it might mean.

When he finally got up the courage to move his feet felt heavy and awkward in the big boots, his usually rather loud tread echoing terribly in the deserted street. Dimly on the horizon he could see where the sky was beginning to lighten as the night receded into day, and he prayed that all demon activity was winding down enough and he could just _get home_.

Stumbling he made his way down the street, tripping once or twice over a bit of mismatched trash left out on the sidewalk. Finally he made it to the front of his building, collapsing next to the sleek glass door, he tried to breathe and not think, digging his key ring out of the deep pockets of his pants. His hands shook terribly as he tried to fit the appropriate key in the deadbolt on the door. Finally it slid back into the door with a loud click in the silence of the early morning.

The door swung open and Xander shuffled inside, letting it bang closed behind him and locking. A few feet away the elevator doors pinged as they opened and he watched his neighbor Mrs. Jacoby exit with a bag of garbage. The old lady smiled at him, her voice warm and crinkly.

"Good evening dear, are you all right?"

Xander jerked his head around to meat her, arms tightening even more around his waist, "What? Yes! Fine, just—going home."

She smiled genially and nodded a bit absently, "You must be new; I don't believe we've met."

He tried to smile a bit as he edged closer to the elevator doors, face feeling pinched and tight, he hoped she wouldn't pick up on anything weird. Course, he really needn't have worried seeing as this was Sunnydale and Mrs. Jacoby was an old time resident. And, likewise, she was rather oblivious when it came to "weird" thank god; making little need on his part to come up with convincing explanations as to why he was coming home at 4 in the morning covered in slow in the dark slim.

She continued without him actually having to answer, "It's a pleasure dear, always nice to get new neighbors, if you'll excuse me." Her smile widened and she trundled over to the door leading to the underground parking garage and the building's trash bin.

The air whooshed out of his lungs and Xander punched harshly at the up button, stumbling into the lift as soon as it had opened. He selected his floor and waited in strained silence, shivering a bit under the heavy fabric of the jacket, knuckles going white where they were tangled in it. The doors pinged and opened up onto a dark hallway, dimly light by sleep lights placed at spaced intervals along the ceiling.

Everything was quiet as he peeked into the hall, quickly skittering out of the elevator before it could close on him and shuffling down the hall to his door. Key went into the lock and he turned it, letting the door swing open under its own wait. Beyond the threshold, the apartment was still and silent, a dim spark of hope flaring up in him that Spike was still out.

He didn't bother with the lights, stepping over a coil of rope he had left in the middle of the floor earlier before he had left on his ill fated date. He avoided the living room and headed for the kitchen, maneuvering around his dinging room table and stopping in front of the fridge. He imagined the way it must look, sickly white from bare bulbs illuminating alien features. Or, what he imagined what must be alien features.

The beer was cold in his hands, condensation having built up on the brown glass. He let the door click shut and tried to twist the top off, grunting when it didn't snick and give away. "Shit, come _on._"

"Need a hand pet?"

Xander froze at the sound of the voice behind him, fingers contracting on the bottle so that the cap twisted unexpectedly beneath them, the dark liquid inside fizzed with a loud hiss. It bubbled uncontrollably out of the narrow neck of the bottle and Xander squeaked and raced to put it over the sink before it could get all over the floor and him.

A cool hand took the bottle from him and replaced it with a damp towel, "Here, clean up your hands." The vampire set the bottle onto the ledge next to the sink and took the towel back, ducking to wipe the floor, "You a friend of Xander's then?"

His eyes widening in the dark the brunette remembered the flapping coat and wrapped it close around his chest again. He couldn't respond except to squeak again when Spike stood, looking down at him, too close for comfort. He watched as recognition bloomed in the other's eyes and he stumbled away at the same time Spike moved to grab his shoulder.

"Bloody hell! Harris? What happened—"

His voice cracked a little too much, too high pitched, and he coughed, clearing his throat, "You know what, I really don't feel like discussing this right now so if you'll just excuse me," he tried to duck around the vampire but was stopped by cold strong hands on his arms.

"What happened to you?"

He struggled a bit, trying to twist away from the strong hands and intent gaze, "_Really_ don't feel like talking about it fangless. Fuck! Let me go!" the hands loosened and he wrenched away, grabbing the beer and stomping away through the dark apartment.

"Harris!"

The loud slam of the master bedroom signaled just how _not_ in the mood the human was for a nice little chat…

TBC


	3. Chapter Three

Title: The Mutare Possibilitas (3/?)

Author: Winter M.

Rating: PG-13

Spoilers: S.7 of BtVS, set directly after "First Date"

Pairing: Xander/Spike eventually

Warnings: Slash (eventually), magical sex change (if that squicks you please don't read, if not then welcome ;))

Summary: Xander was tired of attracting all the demony women so someone else decided to fix that little problem for him… only it wasn't quite what one would expect.

A/N: I don't generally do very well with long stories but I'm really going to try with this one. All feedback/suggestions are welcome.

The sun was slowly coming up outside. He could feel it, the way the air began to itch, slowly and slowly, a gradual thing, great and monstrous to his delicate senses. The demon inside of him shifted restlessly, murmuring deep down in the pit of his chest, scratching at the cage it resided in. Scritch scratch, words soft and guttural drifting up through his mind; ideas and feelings differing from his own, not so terrible as the _voices_ themselves but no less distracting.

Spike shook his head a bit and looked back at the door to the master bedroom. He studied the whorls and lines of the hard wood, tracing them with his eyes. The apartment was silent except for the steady heartbeat of the human on the other side of the door and soft sounds of breathing.

It was soothing, the quiet noises mortals made without even having to think about it, without even being conscious enough to think about it. They simply did. It made him feel like a kitten snuggling up to its mother's heartbeat sometimes, the way even in the worst times, when they hammered at him the most violently, he could search out that steady _thump thump thump_ and it was just there. Never fail.

It had changed, beating a little too fast for what he had come to associate with the boy's norm, only he wasn't a boy anymore was he so of course it would change—

Shaking his head more violently, Spike stood and began to pace softly back and forth in front of the couch. He should call Buffy, get the witch over to find out what had happened to Harris, let them deal with it and let him get some rest. He should make the human get up and deal with this mess himself. He would have done that before… possibly. Couldn't now though could he? No, had to stick around and _do something_.

The heartbeat was slow and regular, sleeping, probably for the best. He stopped and settled back onto the couch, picking up one of the few novels the boy owned and flipping to page he had left off…

The alarm clock went of at six AM like it always did, the radio coming on with a buzz and a click before the voice of the morning DJ came over the airways. The exuberance of the man that early in the morning was not to be tolerated. With a muffled groan Xander rolled over and slapped his hand down in the general direction of the alarm clock. It switched off leaving him in blessed silence.

Cracking one eye open he blinked a few times, trying to knock the crusty sleep out of it. He looked at the dial and groaned, his head beginning to pound; ducking he clutched the fluffy white pillow under his cheek closer, inhaling deeply and burrowing back into the bed. He really needed to remember to turn his alarm off Friday nigh—

Fuck.

He sat up with a start, knocking the covers away and staring down at his bare chest. His bare chest sporting plump, perky tits that is. His face twisted and his eyes itched strangely as he stared down, past his—shudder—breast, across a smooth plan of stomach, finally disappearing under the fluffy white comforter Anya had bought over a year ago. He'd never been able to part with it.

Slowly, hesitantly, he reached out a hand and drew back the comforter, stifling a groan at the site; he bit down on his lip hard enough to break the skin. A small trickle of blood seeped out of the slit and his absently swept it off with his tongue, collapsing back onto the bed with a harsh "Fuck."

He stared up at his ceiling for long moments, mind wandering around and around in circles as he thought back on the events of the previous night. Trying desperately to recall at what point in time he had asked to be—to be turned into…_this_. Covering his face with his hands he groaned, "Why do these things keep happening to me?" a soft knock against his door had him sitting up quickly and pulling at the blankets on his bed so they pooled as high as his chin, "What?"

The door opened revealing Spike at the threshold; he refrained from entering but stood there silently for a heartbeat or two, studying the human with cool blue eyes. He shuffled his feet a bit and stuffed his hands into his pockets, leaning against the doorframe and speaking quietly in that way he had since coming back, "You want to tell me what happened or should I just slam the door again for you?" he quirked an eyebrow in question and Xander felt his lip twist in reaction.

"Very funny, but I don't actually _know_ what happened."

Raising a questioning eyebrow, "Were you drunk? High? Royally piss off someone with power?"

"None of the above—I think," he waved his fingers, "just the usual attracting of crazy demons that do this," he gestured down at his body, "sort of thing because they think they're helping. Or they're sadistic, whichever. Now if you wouldn't mind I'd very much appreciate it if you'd let me get back—" he trailed off as the blonde slowly shook his head, turning away from the room and receding back down the hall.

Curious he clutched more tightly at the comforter, slipping out of his bed and wrapping a sheet close around his body. Tripping a bit over the long train it made he stumbled out of the bedroom and down the short hallway to the kitchen where Spike was pacing, phone already in his hand and one slim finger punching at numbers, "Spike?"

Putting the phone to his ear, "Calling your mates, let them deal with this if you won't."

Xander squeaked and made a grab for the phone, cursing his loss in height as he unceremoniously found himself unable to reach it when the vampire extended his arm above his head. Glaring daggers at the vampire he folded his arms across his chest and sat down with a slight huff at the kitchen table. He just caught the drowsy voice of a potential over the line before it was handed off to the requested, and equally, sleepy Willow.

"Yes, there's a good reason for thi—will you just listen! There's something come up with Harris, need you to take a look, see what's what, maybe fix—yes he's safe, no it's not going to kill him…"

Xander groaned and lay his head down on the table, attempting to cover his ears with his hands. Just make it stop.

"No, I had nothing to—yes, yes, alright, we'll be there in an hour. Yes, quiet, fine." He punched the end button and set it back into the cradle. Looking over at Xander he gave the human a long look until the dark head looked up at him, the glare having slipped into something closer to sheer pitiful. "Come on pet," he nudged Xander's elbow, "Chin up, go get cleaned up, find something to wear and we'll get going, yeah?"

He knew his tone had turned into a whine, a screechy whine actually, but he really couldn't care just at the moment. Life was not shining brightly on him, in fact, it sucked a lot, and the last thing he really wanted to do was face his friends in this condition, "Why does this keep _happening_ to me?"

Sympathy flitted over Spike's face briefly before he shook it away and tugged harder at the other…man's elbow, "Come on, sooner we get the witchling to look at you the sooner you get back to normal."

A glimmer of hope, Willow would be able to figure out what that whatever he was had done, she'd just do a little researching, find a counter spell or whatever and then she'd fix it, _poof!_ Straitening resolutely he stood and brushed past Spike, "Right, going, Willow will know what to do."

For the record, it _really_ sucked when Willow didn't have the answers.

TBC


	4. Chapter Four

Title: The Mutare Possibilitas (4/?)

Author: Winter M.

Rating: PG-13

Spoilers: S.7 of BtVS, set directly after "First Date"

Pairing: Xander/Spike eventually

Warnings: Slash (eventually), magical sex change (if that squicks you please don't read, if not then welcome ;))

Summary: Xander was tired of attracting all the demony women so someone else decided to fix that little problem for him… only it wasn't quite what one would expect.

A/N: I don't generally do very well with long stories but I'm really going to try with this one. All feedback/suggestions are welcome.

Previous parts can be found

The worst sign was her face, the Willow-frown. He'd seen it all their lives, watched it develop and take on a life of its own so that it was now a clear little furrowing of eyebrows and wrinkling of skin between her eyes, the way her nose would scrunch up a little and her eyes… her eyes would finally meet yours and there would be apology and promise and confusion. Xander looked away and couldn't bring himself to meet her eyes again.

She hesitated a moment before resting a hand on his narrow should, "We'll figure out what happened to you Xan, just wait until everyone wakes, Buffy will get everyone to start researching and—"

"I'll do what? What's going on? Is there a new poten—wait, Xander?!" Buffy marched over to them peered into his face, squinting, her eyes widened and she let go. Turning to willow her voice a little resigned, "What happened?"

Willow glanced at Xander, swallowing, "There—there was a demon, last night I guess, and he said a bunch of stuff and then…then he just sort of woke up like…" she gestured minutely at his altered form. "I tried to… tried to see what sort of spell it was, but it's not like anything I've come across," hurrying to add at Xander's look grew even more despondent, "But I will! I just need to… research! We need everyone to research." she looked beseechingly at the slayer.

Brow furrowing a little in her own Buffy considered her friend's words, glancing worriedly at Xander from time to time, gaze finally falling on Spike where leaned against the far wall, carefully out of the way of a sliver of sunlight peeking through the front draperies. "I can ask Dawn to help but… the others have training," her tone suggested she was trying to wheedle the point across but her face was cool, detached. She twisted her fingers around the scrunchy in her hands for a moment, "I've got to go to work today too, but here, tonight," she tried to catch Xander's eye but when he refused to meet her gaze turned back to Willow, "we'll look into tonight. Promise." Turning away she began pulling her hair up out of her face, walking in the direction of the door. The sound of it opening and closing a few moments later signaled she was gone.

The three were silent, Spike focused on a distant point on the opposite wall, Xander beginning to sway a little where he stood frozen, and Willow looking sheepish and a bit glum, peeking over at the brunette under lashes. The sounds of awakening girls upstairs was a slight rustling followed by the impatient stampede of several feet rushing for the bathroom, a triumphant yelp and the small of a door signaled the start of the morning routine in the Summers' house. What could only be consider the trampling beginnings of another rush and one of the potentials came barreling down the staircase, hopping the last step and racing for the downstairs bath. She was followed by several others who formed an impatient line outside the door.

A few broke away from the main group and trooped into the kitchen. They could hear grumpy murmurs and opening and slamming of cabinets. Willow offered her old a friend one last apologetic wince and turned to intercede in the kitchen.

Spike watched the human sigh and slump down onto the couch, burying his face once more in his hands. He felt a bit uncomfortable and was about to attempt his own bit of support when Dawn bounded down the stairs, freshly showered and dressed in a cutesy denim skirt and peasant top. Stomach twisting a bit at the site of her, the little girl grown into a woman, he pulled back a bit further into the shadows and remained silent. The fringes were safe, they tended to just ignore you if you stayed back.

As she passed she glanced fleetingly in Xander's direction, stopping dead in her tracks, voice hesitant, "Xander?"

His hands fell away and he slumped back into the cushiony goodness of the couch, slowly looking up to meet her eyes, "Hey Dawnie."

She squeaked, "What happened to you?"

Sighing, "We're still working on that."

She glanced around the room, frowning a bit, "Doesn't look so much like working as… not. Where's Buffy?"

"Work."

Eyes widening, "She's at _work_? She left you like this so she could go to work?" Harrumphing, the younger Summers plopped down onto the sofa next to him, making them both bob a little on the springy cushions. She studied his profile closely, taking in the long hair and delicate features, finally to the body much closer to her own size and height from what she could see of it, clothed in Xander's much larger clothing as it was.

Tucking her long legs beneath her, Dawn turned on the couch so that she was facing him, "So, what's the plan?" she frowned at his limp shrug and nudged him in the thigh with her toe, "Oh come on, it can't be that bad. Just think, now you'll fit in! Sort of." Her smiled faded a little at the sardonic look he shot her before slumping even lower into the cushions, "Well, fine then, sulk, jeez."

"Thank you! Finally someone who gets it," he glared in Spike's direction and Dawn turned to meet the steady gaze of the vampire for a moment before going in for a second assault.

"You're not supposed to actually do that you know."

Snorting, "Why not? I'm a _girl_; doesn't that give me special sulking rights now or something?"

"It most certainly does not mister, you sit your bum up right now and we'll get straight to work," Willow stood in the doorway with her hands on her hips, chin raised. "Dawn will you go grab my laptop?"

The younger girl nodded and jumped off the couch, pausing at the foot of the stairs, "Does this mean I get to miss school today?"

Willow sighed, resigned, and nodded; smiling a little herself at the grin Dawn flashed her before bounding up the stairs. She quickly turned her stern glare back on the brunette, "Now you, sit up! We're going to fix this Xander."

He watched her stride back into the kitchen to break up a quickly escalating fight over the last bowl of Corn Pops and sighed, straightening in his seat as instructed. Dawn appeared a minute later with the computer tucked under arm and Willow soon joined them, weighted down with a small stack of books they had rescued from the burnt out Magic Box the previous year along with a couple warm pop tarts and a glass of juice. She offered the last two things to Xander who accepted them gratefully, biting into the warm pastry and jelly goodness.

Even when a musty book was placed in his lap he couldn't help the small bubble of warmth fighting valiantly for a pedestal in his chest at the feel of his two friends on either side, hard at work to fix… this. He vaguely registered Spike slipping out of the room after a few moments and returning quickly with a mug of blood in one hand. He took one of the books off the table and sat down in the armchair, refusing to meet the questioning eyes that followed his actions with interest.

Settling into this familiar routine, the four worked in relative silence except for the sound of pages being turned and the tap of keys on the keyboard. The morning passed slowly as they plugged through the information, broken up by the sporadic nature of questions directed his way about what he remembered of the man/demon he had run into the night before.

Finally Willow was called away to assist Kennedy with the training session going on in the backyard and Spike slipped away into the kitchen.

Dawn sighed softly and looked up Xander. She blew a errant lock of hair out of her face, raising an eyebrow at what sounded like somebody yelling at a—yep, funnel cake—filtered out of the kitchen. He nodded when she mouth "Andrew", and glanced back down at the crumbling pages of his book. Propping her chin in her hands, "So is it really, really different? Or just sort of different?"

Without glancing up, "It's really, really different."

She nodded and focused back on the white screen.

He was starring dismally at the toilet in the downstairs bathroom when_ it_ appeared to him, looking like Larry of all things. The First grinned, looking him up and down slowly, calculatingly, "Well, well, look what we've gotten ourselves into now. Troubles Harris?"

Jerking away from the apparition in the small space afforded by the bathroom, he pressed himself back against the sink, "What do you want?"

"To warn you. They're not going to find a way to fix this. No matter that cute little witch friend of yours says, there's no way they'll be reversing this. Guess that means you're stuck then."

It stepped closer and Xander felt his skin crawl even though, logically, his brain recognized that it was immaterial and therefore couldn't actually harm him.

The grin warped and twisted Larry's features into a horrible smirk, "They really weren't thinking things through very well when they did this to you, you know. I won't complain though," Larry melted into Buffy and Xander felt his eyes widening of their own volition. "Maybe you'll actually be useful to your friends like this. Wouldn't that be something?"

The flash it made when it disappeared momentarily blinded him but when the black spots faded from his vision his knees felt weak and very wobbling. Slowly he let his body slide down to the floor until he was resting against the sink, eyes closed and breath coming a little quicker then normal as his heart tried to beat out of his chest…

TBC


	5. Chapter Five

Title: The Mutare Possibilitas (4/?)

Author: Winter M.

Rating: PG-13

Spoilers: S.7 of BtVS, set directly after "First Date"

Pairing: Xander/Spike eventually

Warnings: Slash (eventually), magical sex change (if that squicks you please don't read, if not then welcome ;))

Summary: Xander was tired of attracting all the demony women so someone else decided to fix that little problem for him… only it wasn't quite what one would expect.

A/N: Big thanks to everyones who reviewed :) and to Britt for beta-ing for me smooche

There were voices outside, well, in the living room. Vaguely his brain seemed to register the arrival of said voices, _Buffy _and someone strange, deeper but not Giles. His stomach felt like it was jumping about somewhere around near his throat, not pleasant to say the least, but he forced his legs to straighten, hand gripping the side of the counter with white knuckles. Knees and arms shaking a bit, he walked carefully across the bathroom, taking a deep breath in front of the door before forcing himself to straighten and take hold of the doorknob: company, no time to be acting like a…well, a girl, in front of strangers.

The door opened and he attempted to walk and normal as possibly back out into the living room where Buffy stood next to a tall black man—principal something—and Andrew. A very animate Andrew with oven mitts and gesturing hands _covered _in oven mitts. He shook his head, and he thought his situation was bad, at least he was only stuck like this…

Arms were grabbing at him, tiny slayer hands on his right and big strong guy arms on his left and around his waist, not Andrew, must have been the principal guy… something Wood? He couldn't stop the giggle that wanted to bubble up out of his throat. His stomach flipped around faster as his sides shook and he could swear he was about to puke up all over the cute white sweater Buffy had been wearing that morning.

He folded into himself as soon as they had him standing again, the giggle growing louder into spastic hiccups and gasps. Or suit, he could puke all over this guy's pristine charcoal suit.

"Xander. Xander stop it!"

Buffy harsh voice broke through the growing hysteria in his brain and he forcefully gulped down the rest of his laughter, straightening enough so that he could look at them, "Sorry Buff, just— umm," he glanced at Wood cautiously. That's when Andrew piped up with…

"He's safe, _supposedly_," the short blonde rolled his eyes and his tone suggested something more the simply feeling a bit injured on his part.

Buffy shook her head and tightened her grip of Xander's arm, "Are you ok?"

"She looks a bit pale."

That did it, the giggles burst out again, a little more desperate then they had been before but no less rampant. He held up a hand to forestall any more questions and jerked away from them, weaving his way around furniture so he could fall back onto place on the couch. Pressing a hand against his side he calmed his breathing and glanced around, Dawn had disappeared sometime between his going into the bathroom and sometime after he finally got out.

"Xander!"

"I'm alright Buffy, please just go back to whatever you were doing," he waved vaguely and grab at the heavy book he had been paging through, flipping foreword a few more pages to where he had left off. She stood there for a heartbeat, tiny slayer hands clenching and releasing before nodding for Wood to follow her out of the room. Throwing a confused look over his shoulder at the brunette, they both left through the kitchen and he dimly heard the back door close behind them.

Willow clattered by a moment latter, arms laden with all sorts of old weaponry.

"Hey Wills?"

Not eve pausing, "Oh, hey, one sec, I just got to run these out to Kennedy." She was out of the room and opening the door before he could mutter his warning.

"We've got company."

Dawn plopped back onto the couch next to him and picked up the laptop, settling it back on her folded legs, "Company? Where?"

Shaking his head, Xander focused back on the books, eyes twisting to make up the cramped little script of the monk who had scribbled this text out centuries before, "Never mind."

Frightened little girl eyes were nested into the faces of just about everyone potential cramped into the Summers' household. They sat and stood in clumps and tight little groups, some holding on tight to make shift weapons, knives and stakes and even an ax in more experienced hands. Others just sort of shook where they sat, darting nervous eyes amongst their companions and over to the door, waiting for Buffy to make her grand entrance.

They're more worried not though, shit faced scared could be closer to the truth. I look at their faces, their eyes, and its worse then it's ever been before. The fact that they're new to this game isn't really the point either, because I remember _our_ eyes when _we_ were new to this. They never looked like that. Even Willow is more frightened the usual, her eyes big in her pale face, Kennedy hovering protectively near. Out eyes meet, thoughts passing back and forth between us: _it's never been this bad before, this desperate_. Maybe not even with Glory.

Buffy stomps into the room, resting her shovel against the wall and placing herself in the middle of the room. My ears sort of go numb after awhile, first after her ragging on the Potentials themselves, then when she turns her focus on the rest of us. Her shrill question of, "Does anyone understand?" caught his attention though.

"Sorry Buff, sort of tuned out there when it looked like this was going to become speech 111," I interrupted whatever she was going to snap in reply, "Fact is, we're all scared," she barely glances at me before picking up where she had left off.

Gritting her teeth a bit, "I know that, but so long as you're here, be useful while you're at it."

"Right well, I guess that's fair, but it's a bit hard with all the freaky sex-changes and the First popping out of the damn toilet." That gets her attention, "Also hard with the apparent lack of concern in finding a—"

"You were visited by the First?" she demanded, cutting him off. "Why didn't you say anything before?"

"Little busy Buffy, what with the whole researching and… stuff. You know, stuff we're supposed to be working on tonight?"

Rona, seated near the wall broke in with, "Yeah, weren't you a _guy_ yesterday?"

Xander grimaced, looking at Buffy more expectantly. She was obviously once more in deep thought, her expression dark and her skin pale. She looked old, older even then when they had first brought her back, even when she had slid further and further into depression the previous year.

Finally she looked up, glancing around at the group of expectant faces, "Dawn, go get the emergency kit Wood left."

Her sister frowned, glancing between the slayer and brunette, "But—why, how is that going—"

"Get it Dawn," her mouth compressed into a hard little line, "I'm declaring an emergency."

The SITs were ordered to bed and the remaining Scoobies plus Kennedy were soon joined by Robin Wood as they waited for Dawn to retrieve the slayer kit. Buffy herself paved fitfully around the room, arms crossed sternly over her chest.

Xander was feeling decidedly ignored as his friends waited in anxious silence. Closing his eyes in frustration he sat back on the sofa, becoming aware of another's presence the seat beside him dipped down.

"You alright?"

The voice was quiet, enough so that no one nearby would be able to overhear it. He shifted nervously, glancing strangely at the vampire, "I'm fine." Those blue eyes looked at him calmly, staring that uncanny way they had always had, see too much speak little of it except when it could be used to hurt the most. Except all these months back, it'd all been seen and _never_ spoken upon, not once, and to be sure there had been plenty of opportunities. Perhaps not as ripe as his current one but… "Why?"

The blonde shrugged and looked away turning his gaze on Dawn as she entered the room, laden down with the old leather sack. Standing, he moved out of the way as those assembled crowded around the coffee table where the girl dumped the bundle. Picking up the thick book with it, they began.

They placed the shadow casters in a circle, spinning them on their merry little stand as the lights dimmed and the darkness stretched out of the corners of the room. Warping and twisting as they spun across the walls, the tale of the past portrayed in the future. Ancient monsters grew and took shape and chased a young girl bound by chains.

"Men found a girl. And the men took the girl to fight the demon - all demons. They - they chained her to the Earth…"

Xander found his eyes caught by the crude "movie", the story of the First slayer ringing in his ears.

From Buffy, "What about darkness?

"It says you cannot be shown. You cannot just watch, but you must see. See for

yourself, but only if you're willing to make the exchange."

He frowned slightly at Dawn, "When did you get so good at Sumerian?"

"It's not in Sumerian anymore…" she looked up at her sister, "What does it mean?"

With a swirl of wind and blue light, the shadows dancing faster and faster across the surface of the walls, a portal ripped open against the fall wall, spewing out wind and noise, the wails from the story.

"It means I have to go in there."

Eyes widening even further in her face, Willow rushed to speak up, "Buffy, wait, you cant just go in there, we don't know where you're going o—or even how we'll get you back!" her tone was frantic and pleading.

The blonde glanced once over her shoulder, "Find a way," then disappeared through the portal.

Everything stopped abruptly, everyone in the room stood frozen wherever they were, eyes glued to the space on the carpet/wall through which the slayer had vanished. He glanced at Willow, eyes a bit wide, voice cautiously strained, "What was that about a trade?" before she could answer a loud roar shook the house and a large demon was spewed out of the air, dropping right into the midst of their little party and smack dab in the center of the Summers' living room.

"Willow send it back, quick!" Kennedy's voice was frantic as the red headed witch began to chant.

"Redi—" the demon turned and swatted her against the wall with barely a glance, turning to meet Wood head on.

The SIT caught the sword Dawn threw to here and both girls charged the spiny monster, screeching painfully. Scrambling off the couch, Xander stumbled over his pants leg which had come unrolled. The demon swept the humans out of its way and advanced on Xander, its eyes dark and glittering. The brunette reached into the open weapons chest on the floor, grabbing the first thing his hand came into contact with.

Turning around to face it, he was saved the trouble—and probably a concussion as well—by a dark blur barreling into the side of the creature. Both went down with a splintering of wood as the force of their momentum shattered the coffee table.

He watched, unmoving, as Spike and their i _exchange /i _struggled for a moment before the vampire was hurled through the ceiling into the upstairs hallway. Letting out a last earsplitting roar, the demon turned away from them, crashing through the house and escaping into the night.

Kennedy hauled herself to her feet and glanced around the room, "Everyone ok?"

"We're fine," Dawn answer, offering Willow a hand up, "so what do we do now?" everyone looked at the red head, the expectant attention turning her a light shade of pink.

A shuffling sound from upstairs caught Xander's attention and he turned out of the room, oddly shaped ax still clutched loosely in his hand. Spike leaned against the railing at the top of the stairs, slowly shaking his head a bit. Looking down he met the brunette's face, drawing the vampire down the stairs until they stood just a few feet apart.

"Thanks, for back there," Xander waved the ax over his shoulder back towards the living room.

The blonde shrugged, tucking his hands into the tight pockets of his jeans, "Yeah, well, cant's really have beg and nasty running around can we? Fat lot of good it seems to have done though."

Xander felt stiff again, unnaturally immobile, which perhaps not so much to be unexpected considering but… this was different. His fingers felt cold and numb around the handle of the ax and the clatter it made when it finally hit the hard wood floor broke the moment.

Jerking he bent to grab the weapon off the floor, straightening he found himself nose to nose with the vampire, or he would have been were he not now a good bit shorter then he had been, at the moment he realized his head only came up to about the other's eyes. Something was lodged in his throat, he could feel it, the way it choked him when he tried to swallow. The glittering eyes were too intense on his face, so much it felt as if he were being mapped and he took a hasty step backwards, away from the pale hand slowly reaching to touch his hair.

The arm dropped back to Spike's side and they stood in strained silence for a moment before Xander gathered himself and turned on his heel. Noise from the kitchen alerted him to the whereabouts of his friends.

Willow leaned against the kitchen counter; across from her, Dawn peered closely at the faded surface of the book, forehead scrunched up in concentration. The witch's voice was soft when she spoke, "What does it say?"

"Not much," Dawn sighed and shoved it away from her a little ways in frustration, "It suddenly got a lot harder to read once Buffy left."

Breaking into the conversation, Kennedy placed her hands firmly on her hips, "Right, so let's start with what we know and go from there." turning to Willow, "You've got the magic, use it."

"It's—it's not that simple, I don't even know what magic to use."

"Make an educated guess."

Grabbing a nearby first aid kit the red head pulled out a wad of gaze and motioned Kennedy over, dabbing carefully at the small wound for a moment in thought. Finally she let her hand drop and tossed the soiled wad in the garbage, "Uh, someone might start with physics, principles, basic laws..."

Anya snorted, jutting her chin out in annoyed defiance when Dawn rounded on her with a "Are you helping?"

"No, but at least I'm not galloping off in the wrong direction."

"Magic works on physics."

Flipping her hair off her face a little she folded her hands over her chest, "Not without a catalyst. If you're talking about transference of energies you need a conduit."

"Like a-a Kraken's tooth."

"Yeah, skin of Draconis, um, ground up Baltic stones. Something."

"Right," Kennedy's face lighted, "Plus, we need an exchange. Slayer for a demon?" she glanced between Willow and Anya, "Does it matter if it's dead?"

Raising his hand a bit, Xander spoke up, "I don't know about the rest of you but I'm thinking dead." the girls nodded as Spike appeared out of the shadows in the kitchen entryway.

"The slayer's counting on you, Willow. Get cracking on that portal, and don't be stingy with the mojo. The demon's mine."

Kennedy turned a skeptical eye on the vampire, "Hate to say it _big bad_ but so far all we know about that demon is that it kicked your ass."

Pausing he cocked his head a little, voice quietly matter of fact, tired around the edges, "It did at that." He left quickly, through the back door and leaving the group to their magics.

Shifting his weight from foot to foot, Xander caught Willow's eyes, "So, spell?"

She nodded, asking Anya to retrieve the needed components from the basement. Grumbling slightly, the blonde tromped off down the stairs. The witch hesitated for a moment, glancing nervously around the room, "Dawn, why don't you go check on the potentials; make sure they stay quiet and upstairs, ok?"

The lanky girl nodded and bounced out of the kitchen.

"Is there anything I can do?" Wood looked ill at ease with the situation.

Shaking her head, "Just stand by I suppose… I'm not really sure what's going to happen so just… be ready." Gaze turning inward she strode back into the living room, Kennedy right on her heels.

Wood glanced at Xander, his eyes searching him from hair to toe, "You look…" coughing a little to clear his throat, "Different."

The brunette glared, "Demon problems, we're working on it."

He nodded knowing, his tone told a different story of condensation, "Right, I can—"

The door to the basement slammed open and Anya stumbled out thoroughly laden down with candles and old wooden bowls. She glanced between the two, her eyes widening comically. Xander opened his mouth but her blunt, shrill tone beat him to the punch, "Where's Willow?"

Mutely he pointed to the living room, watching her flaunt past him. Eyeing the principal he turned after her, seeing Willow had already begun to set up the spell with the blonde's assistance. He took up a position off to one side and waited, restlessly fidgeting with the cuff of his over large long sleeve shirt.

Broken pieces of furniture had already been cleared from the center of the room, swept into a corner and left for later taking care of, the couch and chair were pushed back to offer more room and half the lights had been dimmed to cut back on possible sparkage. Willow completed outlining a slightly wobbly circle on the floor with sand and handed the mostly empty pouch to Anya. Taking a deep breath, she glanced nervously at them, "I think I might pee my pants."

Xander touched her elbow fleetingly, offering up an encouraging smile though he wondered of what use it would be when he wasn't even himself, "You can do it. The spell, not the pants."

She ducked her head and nodded, quickly stepping into the ring and settling herself. Sitting cross legged, hands held loosely, palms up on her knees she began the incantation, "Ia temporis, iam clamo ad te, via spatii te jubeo aperire. Aperi!"

The assembled waited in tense silenced as the slight echo of her command faded into the room. Nothing happened though and Xander shifted a bit on his feet, watching Willow as she turned and looked at Dawn.

"Dawnie you'd better go put some coffee on, this might take—"

They jumped as the red headed witch screamed, whipping her head back around so she was facing into the mystical wing tearing through the Summers' house. The long strands of her hair were like fire around her head as an unearthly light lit up her straining features…

TBC

A/N: some lines taken and twisted around and spewed out again from BtVS ep_Get it Done._


	6. Chapter Six

**Title: **The Mutare Possibilitas (6/?)

**Author: **Winter M.

**Rating: **PG-13

**Spoilers:** S.7 of BtVS, set directly after "First Date"

**Pairing: **Xander/Spike eventually

**Warnings:** Slash (eventually), magical sex change (if that squicks you please don't read, if not then welcome ;))

**Summary:** Xander was tired of attracting all the demony women so someone else decided to fix that little problem for him… only it wasn't quite what one would expect.

**A/N:** I just want to apologize for any and all mistakes in this (i realize there have been a few grammatically) but i'm writing this by the seat of my pants. Hopefully once its finished i can go back through and fix everything.

**2011 A/N:** DUDES so probably no one is still interested in reading this (it's been what 6 ½ years since I started writing this thing) but I found four chapters of TMP on my livejournal that were never posted and I got all excited because this story was my cracky little baby back in the day (written for fun, shits and giggles because I adore genderfuck) so I'll be posting what I've already got written and I might try my hand at finishing it up. I remember the bones of where I was going. Enjoy!

She was chanting, Latin, the long shrill scream originally torn from her throat fading into words said in anger, said in struggle and frustration, commanding. They resolved themselves once more into the planned spell but he could not understand them, just a roaring mumble in his ears, which instead were filled with the rushing strain of mystical energy unleashed in the small confines of the living room.

Backing away from the young woman, he watched in increasing horror as her hair changed before their very eyes, lengthening and darkening, from roots to tips so that it stood in dark contrast to her pale, pale skin. It whipped around her slender frame, ramrod straight as she cussed out whatever deity she had been calling upon, shrieking that the higher power listen and heed her request.

Without warning Willow's hands whipped out behind her, reaching and straining for them. He felt like he'd been hit with lightening, the way her magics tore into the center of his chest and twisted there, lightening up through his veins, through and through and then being drawn back out in a heady rush. Snapping his head back with the force of the drain until the last tendril cracked out of his ribcage, the backlash hitting him square and tossing him away across the room and into the far wall like a rag doll.

He sat up slowly, gingerly fingering the back of his head where it had impacted with the wall. Glancing to where Willow sat screaming into an unnatural wind, he watched in morbid amazement as the space in front of her twisted into itself. Light flared and exploded into a swirling portal. The witch's dark hair whipped around her face, coarser, dryer and slapping heavily against her skin. He struggled to his feet, reaching across the ring of sand in a desperate bid to lift Willow to her feet.

She stumbled back and away from the opened portal, collapsing to the floor and dragging him down with her. The front door opened with a crash and Spike entered, dragging the corpse of the demon behind him. Without a word or gesture from them, he threw the body into the portal and slowly sank to his knees, face intent on the colorful maelstrom as it churned and winked out as quickly as it had appeared.

The house was silent for a moment, deathly so in the aftermath of the storm that was the gateway. Dawn appeared at the foot of the stairs and looked at them all with wide eyes. She opened her mouth to speak but never got the chance as the air above the sand warped and expelled the Slayer from its maw.

They all sat or stood, speechless, hearts beating too rapidly in their chests. She looked at them, eyes wide and distant, too large in her face. Stony, looking but not seeing, she ignored the hand Willow tried to touch her with, skirting through them, past Dawn's questioning stare and up into the dark second story.

Kennedy gave Anya a hand to her feet, glancing nervously in Willow's direction once before hurrying upstairs herself. Extricating himself from where Willow had latched onto the baggy collar of his shirt, Xander stood, hesitantly touching the blonde's shoulder, offering Anya a weak smile when she looked at him. And wasn't that different, being spot on eye level with his ex. She shook her head though, turning away, "I call bathroom." She paused and looked back at Xander, "You should think about it yourself, you look awful you know and you should really take a look at that nose."

He watched her flounce away and wiped at the blood that had belatedly begun to trickle out of his nose. Willow seemed frozen, her arm slightly raised, rigid, fingers empty. She looked up at him, eyes searching his for a moment before struggling shakily to her feet and motioning towards the kitchen, "She's right." Eye widening, "about taking a look at that not the 'you look awful' bit 'cause you don't. Look awful. Well, the—the blood doesn't look so good and the clothes don't fit at all but…" she stopped short when he chuckled, spluttering a bit around the sticky red fluid but smiling at the witch.

"It's fine Wills. I'm sure I, uh, look…"

"A right mess."

They jumped at the unexpected voice, once more becoming away of the battered vampire. Spike stood slowly; refusing to meet their eyes he strode purposefully into the kitchen area. Shrugging, they followed.

The emergency kit was cracked open and the—once more—red head held up a wad of tissues to Xander's face.

Her gaze was unnervingly studious as she spoke, eyes tracing over his new features, "I'm really sorry about this you know. I—I didn't mean—"

Taking the gauze from her trembling fingers he gingerly drew it away so he could speak, "Hey, hey, I know how it works, yeah? Just… figure out how to fix this," gesturing down at his body, "and we'll call it even ok?"

She gave him a weak smile and nodded, "Promise." She watched him wipe at the blood before it could dry on his skin, forehead beginning to wrinkle into a frown, "Are you going to be ok getting home?"

Spike tossed a stained wad of white tissues into the garbage can and faced them, a little stiff and fingers fluttering aimlessly before he stuffed them deep into the pockets of his jeans, "He'll be fine."

"Th—thank you, Spike," Willow glanced between them worriedly but nodded at Xander's shrug, quickly packing the first aid kit back up and stowing it under the sink. Wiping her palms off against her pants legs, she stuttered softly as she addressed them both, "I—I guess I'll, uh, just call it a night then." Willow gave him a fleeting smile before hurrying away into the silence of the house.

Glancing down at the tissue in his hand with a distant, glazed look, Xander sat slowly down onto one of the stools pulled up to the counter. He could feel the way the kinks and tense muscles throughout his body slowly began to relax. One by one until the exhaustion hit him hard, the energy Willow had drained out for the spell finally catching up with him. He didn't even have the energy to jerk away when a cold hand reached out and took the wad of cotton away from him.

It landed in the trash bag with a soft swoosh and the hand reappeared at his elbow, gripping gently and easing him to his feet. When the vampire spoke, the words were gruff but the tone itself far from what it would have been a year ago, before the world tilted and everyone went insane. "Right, up you go Harris, not going to carry you home."

His eyes felt itchy and his head was heavier then usual but Xander fumbled with the door to the outside, the night air brisk in his lungs, momentarily reviving him. The sky was surprisingly clear, stars bright little pinpricks in the velvety night 'scape. They cast a bluish glow onto everything and conveniently illuminating the dark streets.

A few houses along Revello Drive remained lit, porch lights or golden edges peeking out around upstairs windows where come soul worked late. But mostly, they were empty, dark holes where the hellmouth had finally swallowed the residents up or chased them away.

Around them nothing stirred, not even a fledgling, and the walk to his apartment building was made in blessed silence. Stumbling once or twice in his overlarge sneakers, he was vaguely glad—in the part of his mind still mostly awake—for the strong hand that never let go of his elbow.

TBC


	7. Chapter Seven

**Title: **The Mutare Possibilitas (7/?)

**Author: **Winter M.

**Rating: **PG-13

**Spoilers:** S.7 of BtVS, set directly after "First Date"

**Pairing: **Xander/Spike eventually

**Warnings:** Slash (eventually), magical sex change (if that squicks you please don't read, if not then welcome ;))

**Summary:** Xander was tired of attracting all the demony women so someone else decided to fix that little problem for him… only it wasn't quite what one would expect.

**A/N:** Thanks to everyone who has reviewed! It keeps me motivated like nothing else :) Excuse any mistakes, my beta is out of town and i tend to miss things when its my own work.

**2011 A/N:** Archived chapters continue! two more after this, then I'll see about some fresh chapters :)

* * *

No alarm rang shrilly the next morning. Something in his fuddled mind the night before having been cogent enough to remember that he did not want to wake up at five the next morning. It had been well after midnight when they finally got home and it was nice to have those extra hours to doze and laze about, still half asleep.

When he finally did drag his ass out of bed nine and a half hours later it was to sun slanting through the cracks around his bedroom curtains and a silent apartment. Everything was still and hazy as he sat up languidly in bed, swinging his legs over the side and pausing for a moment. Nothing stirred but himself and it was nice. Peaceful. He stood and slipped out of the bedroom, padding silently down the short hall to the bathroom.

Even for the rest his eyes felt gritty and his head a little heavier then it should have been, arms shaking ever so slightly as he raised the lid of the toilet, pausing briefly to glare balefully at the white porcelain before sitting. Finished he washed his hands and considered the shower. Sunlight poured through two narrow windows at the very top of the shower stall, bathing the white tiles in a bright glow, making the lure of warm water and light inviting.

Sighing, he tugged at his baggy t-shirt and pulled it over his head, discarding it on the floor before attacking the knot in the drawstring of his sweatpants. Unfamiliarly narrow fingers fumbled with the rough stitched up piece of cotton for a few moments before it came loose and the worn fabric pooled around his feet. Xander stepped out of it and pushed back the curtain to the shower, fiddling with the taps and waiting for a second before testing the temperature, relaxing as deliciously warm water prayed over his skin.

He stepped under the showerhead, letting the water sluice over his head and down his body, slicking his longish hair to his head and pulsing at the muscles in his shoulders. He would have sworn it was a little slice of heaven, the way it quickly warmed him and the rising steam refreshed his sinuses. Grabbing a bottle of shampoo his worked up a thick lather in his hair before rinsing and moving onto the white bar of soap resting in a little dish on the wall attachment.

Slowing down a bit he soaped up his hands, running them over the soft flat plane of his stomach, tracing the gentle slope of firm skin and muscle. Then around to his back, reaching as far up as he could before switching to his arms and shoulders, scrubbing at the skin along the hairline on his neck where sweat tended to build up. Almost hesitantly he began to sweep soapy hands around his breasts, gently trailing delicate fingers over them, amazed at the way the dark nipples immediately began to harden at his touch. He gasped softly at the tiny, electric tingles it sent racing through his system, the soapy slip slide of flesh on flesh, slowly melting away as the water ran over him, giving its own rough catch between cells.

The first time the doorbell rang shrilly through the apartment he was too absorbed to notice, the second time too was ignored but the sound of someone laying on the horn so to speak finally caught his attention and Xander jerked upright. Hands falling away as he quickly rinsed off. Stumbling out of the shower he pulled a towel off the rack and wrapped it tightly around his body, tucking it securely beneath itself above his breasts to hold it in place.

Dripping water across the living room he had to stand up on tiptoe to see through the peephole. A glimpse of familiar red hair and he was sliding back the chain, flipping back the deadbolt and opening the door for Willow. Dawn stood next to her, leaning next to the doorbell, eyebrow raised significantly. The red head's eyebrows rose a fraction at his appearance.

He stepped out of the doorway, "Hey guys. Sorry about the uh, towel, I wasn't expecting company."

The two stepped past him and into the apartment, giving him briefly matching grins though they had faded the next moment. Dawn threw herself into the plush cushioning of one of his lazy chairs and watched with amusement as Willow fiddled with her hands, finally glancing at the younger girl with a bit of pleading in her eyes. Rolling her own, Dawn turned to Xander, "You need clothes."

Blinking rapidly he became aware of just how cold it was in the apartment, wet and dressed only in a towel as he was. He shivered and grinned crookedly, "Yeah, well, like I said—"

"Nooo," her grin turned puckish, "New clothes. Girl shaped clothes. You can't keep running around in your old clothes, they look terrible and…uh, well…"

"And? What and?" he looked back and forth between the two, eyes widening a bit at Willow's sympathetic look and the Dawn's quickly fading amusement. Gripping at the towel he rubbed a hand over his eyes, "Please tell me what's going on."

Sighing softly, Willow took his hand in hers, a jolt at the unfamiliar feeling for his too small hands, "Buffy asked me to do a spell last night."

He peered over at her under his tangled brown black hair, it dripped cold little droplets of water into his eyes and onto the floor but he blinked them away and continued, "What sort of spell?"

"One to try to figure out what had happened to you. She said it was time to, um, get all our ducks in a row before… just, I—I'm not sure _exactly_ what's happened to you but whatever it is, it looks…" she trailed away, unable to meet his eyes, her hand tightening around his own.

He swallowed harshly, "Just tell me Wills. Please."

"I think it might be permanent. Or—or at least its nothing I can touch. Whatever the thing was that you said did this to you, it's powerful, much more powerful then me."

Dawn slouched lower in the chair, arms crossed over her chest, "Tell him the rest." She met his wide eyes and grinned crookedly, "You'll love this."

The witch cleared her throat, "We think you've become a Potential."

His head was spinning crazily, Willow's words running around and around in his head. Bouncing off the walls and the barriers and the little steal cages know as Denial, ricocheting away and in new directions with every passing minute. A potential. It was mind boggling and terrifying and brought up so many new questions he could barely keep his hands from shaking as he dressed.

The bathroom linoleum was cold under his feet but he didn't really register it as he slipped on a pair of old jeans, smaller then just about everything else in his closet though they still required a belt to stay up. Next came a sports bra Willow had brought with her for him to wear until they could get something of his own. And wasn't that just one more thing to overload his poor mind with: shopping. They had come over early to take him shopping because there was no telling how long he would be like…this; or if he'd ever change back at all.

He shivered and looked up at his reflection in the mirror, staring in a mix of horror and curiosity at the softer features looking back at him. Not his face, but it was. Mouth the same but smaller, pinker, eyebrows thinner. Nose more delicate and the entire bone structure more fine, shorter, narrower. Dark, dark hair fell past his chin in a ragged bob, already beginning to dry in soft, gentle waves.

A knock against the door broke the cycle of his thoughts and Dawn's voice was clear through the wood, "Almost ready?"

Straightening, he swallowed harshly and reached for the door handle, bracing himself for the nightmare before him, determinedly pushing away thoughts of panic. He pasted a shaking smile onto his face and opened the door, meeting her slightly worried eyes, "Yeah, let's do this."

The slight look of strain left her young features and she smiled brightly at him, grabbing his hand and pulling him out of the apartment. Willow took up position on his other side as the three walked quickly through the bright streets of Sunnydale. They weren't overly crowded but enough so that it seemed as if the entire remaining population had found the day just as agreeable as themselves.

The mall was as busy as it ever was. Unfortunately.

TBC


	8. Chapter Eight

**Title: **The Mutare Possibilitas (8/?)

**Author: **Winter M.

**Rating: **PG-13

**Spoilers:** S.7 of BtVS, set directly after "First Date"

**Pairing: **Xander/Spike eventually

**Warnings:** Slash (eventually), magical sex change (if that squicks you please don't read, if not then welcome ;))

**Summary:** Xander was tired of attracting all the demony women so someone else decided to fix that little problem for him… only it wasn't quite what one would expect.

**A/N:** Smooches to Britt for the lovely beta and kicking my arse into gear :) Thanks to everyone who has reviewed! It keeps me motivated like nothing else!

* * *

The sun was just barely set when the vampire came to wakefulness with a start, jerking upright in the narrow bed and gazing around the gloom with wide eyes. The apartment was uncharacteristically still and he knew almost immediately that Xander wasn't home. Rising a bit stiffly he shuffled out of the room—closet—and into the kitchen, stopping at the site of the little dining table there covered in plastic bags.

Spike stared in wonder at the multitude of shiny pinks and blacks and whites from stores all over the mall. They had been left in a hazardous pile and one had fallen open, hanging a bit over the edge of the wood surface and spilling a few of its contents. Lacy unmentionables and few more practical ones were strewn across the immediate floor space beneath the open bag.

Eyebrows raised, he felt the flicker of a leer twist his lips as he turned to the refrigerator, jerking it open and retrieving a bag of blood. The sink was mostly full of dirty dishes from the last several days but he found a bright yellow mug near the back of the cabinet and poured the cold red blood into it. The microwave dinged happily once the cycle had finished and he gulped down the tasteless fluid quickly before propping the mug against the top of the pile in the sink and heading to the bathroom.

When he emerged thirty minutes later from the steamy room, wisps of the gray warm fog drifty out with him, it was to the banging of the front door.

* * *

Xander couldn't seem to decide whether his smaller stature was a blessing or a curse. On the one hand it allowed him to get nearly falling down drunk a whole hell of a lot faster then it normally would have taken, but on the other hand it made things a bit sticky when one of his fellow drunks decided to get groping with him. His mind shivered at the memory of fumbling hands in places he so did not need explored, especially with too many beers in him.

As he stumbled across the sparse floor of his living room he was aware of the fact that he would probably be peeing most of the night if he didn't pass out before then but he couldn't regret it. The hazy state of his mind was a welcome relief after the day's events and he figured he'd deal with the eventual headache when it came.

He paused once, on the way to the couch to glare balefully at the shiny white shopping bags dumped on his kitchen table, the cheerful thank you's printed on their outsides mocked him.

"Staring at them really won't make them go away you know."

Whipping his head around to turn the similarly baleful gaze on the vampire, dressed simply in a towel, he regretted the action as his body tried to stagger to the left. He groaned softly, the sound coming out more like a high pitched whine, and worked his way over to the couch, dropping exhaustedly onto its surface. Sinking down, he rested his head against the back and stared at the blonde as he continued to watch him, "What?" the tone was petulant he knew but he chalked it up to just another thing he really couldn't make himself care about right then.

The vampire shrugged and turned away, disappearing through the door into his room—_closet_. Xander watched a trickle of water run down the smooth, pale back and drop through the air, for a second seeming almost suspended before it disappeared into the carpet. He shook his head and slumped down further, wiggling sideways and wrapping thin arms around his body. His was feeling heavy and the blissful haze was turning sour the longer he sat there without a drink.

Through slitted eyes he watched Spike walk through the room and into the kitchen; soon the sounds of slamming cabinets and the fridge opening and closing reached him. The microwave dinged and his guest was back in the living room, looking at him over the rim of his mug as he sipped. It was really becoming annoying that, "_What?_"

"You plan on putting that stuff away?" he jerked his head in the direction of the bags.

Xander groaned again, "God no, I'm really trying to f'rget about them, thank you very much." The vampire nodded and shuffled over to a chair, sitting down and folding his legs beneath him, eyes staring at a vague point across the room. He sighed and picked at an already unraveling thread on the edge of the new t-shirt the girls had forced to buy that morning.

After flat out refusing anything vaguely pink they had taken mercy on him and stuck with vaguely neutral colors, though the loud red print against an orange background proclaiming _"Coca Beach Lifeguard Training"_ was nevertheless rather disturbing—even to his inebriated brain.

It just wasn't fair. Stuff like this always had to happen to him. Sure, bad stuff happened to Buffy but that was different; her stuff always meant something, was always done or happened for the greater good. This, this was just embarrassing, just like everything else that happened to him. He didn't even realize he was sniffling until he looked up to find Spike hovering over him uncertainly, a slightly panicked expression on his face.

Xander wiped irritably at his face, gasping hard against the sob that was trying to work its way up his throat. And now, on top of every other humiliation, now he had to break down in front of the vampire.

"Xander?" the voice was irritatingly soft and just a little bit uncomfortable.

"Just leave me alone Spike…please," he hated the way his voice wavered but it was just so damn hard to clamp down on the wave of depression leaking into his bones. He sensed the other man pull back a little but instead of turning away he sat cautiously down next to him on the couch. It dipped slightly under the new weight and he hunched further down into the upholstery, he really didn't want to talk, "Spike—"

"Red take you shopping then? Is that what this is about?"

He sniffed softly, resolved crumbling at the low tone; it wasn't a tone directed at him and it was making the world tilt again, "Sort of." He expected more questions but they didn't come and after a second he blurted out, "She says she can't fix it—I—I'm stuck like this." _That's done it then._

Except no ridicule was forthcoming as the seconds ticked slowly by. They sat there, still, in the quiet apartment, the only the sounds those the fan in the refrigerator made as it kicked on. Finally Spike stood and took the cold mug of congealing blood into the kitchen; water running for a few seconds as he presumably rinsed it out before settling down on the couch again.

The remote was on the little chow table and he picked it up, flicking on the tv so that it droned quietly. Xander watched the pictures flicker by as the vampire flipped through the channels, finally settling on the forced laughing face of Jay Leno's late night show. He twisted on the couch so that he could lean against the armrest and blindly watch the tv at the same time, arms still tightly wrapped around himself.

"Are you cold?"

He shook his head but nevertheless the worn throw blanket appeared moments later around his shoulders and he glanced over in shock but Spike was already focused upon a Capital One add again. Turning to watch, he drug the edge of the weave up tighter around his ears and let his head drop onto the armrest. Letting out a soft sigh, he allowed the alcohol to run its course through his system as the tv continued to blare softly.

TBC


	9. Chapter Nine

**Title: **The Mutare Possibilitas (9/?)

**Author: **Winter M.

**Rating: **PG-13

**Spoilers:** S.7 of BtVS, set directly after "First Date"

**Pairing: **Xander/Spike eventually

**Warnings:** Slash (eventually), magical sex change (if that squicks you please don't read, if not then welcome ;))

**Summary:** Xander was tired of attracting all the demony women so someone else decided to fix that little problem for him… only it wasn't quite what one would expect.

**A/N:** Smooches to Britt for the lovely beta and kicking my arse into gear :) Thanks to everyone who has reviewed! It keeps me motivated like nothing else!

This whole waking up thing was really overrated, especially when at the rate he was going, the apartment complex would be fresh out of rats in a week or so. Give or take. He wanted to moan, possibly groan, but his throat was too dry to click together and form the required movements. There was a crick in his neck where he had slept propped up against the arm of the sofa. The throw blanket was tangled and stretched out across the couch, his head pounded harshly in the sockets of his eyes, his tongue felt furry and thick and one—two?—two, bony feet were lodged under his thighs.

Also, his bladder had finally decided to kick him in the gut—literally.

"Aaaaaaaaaagghhu," he weakly flexed the toes of his own feet, wincing as cramped calf muscles screamed at him. Kicking slightly at the throw, he rolled over onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. There was a lump on the other side of the couch attached to the feet under him, mostly hidden though by a second throw blanket. It was disturbingly still.

Xander blinked slowly, turning his head to stare at the tv as Katie Couric's bright voice finally broke through the haze in his head. She was interviewing some blonde about the newest fashionable line of water bottles. He snorted softly…water bottles! His throat clicked and he moaned piteously as the pressure in his bladder grew decidedly painful and not ignorable.

Rolling off the couch he shuffled into the bathroom and quickly relieved himself. The shopping bags were still in the tangled mess he'd left them the evening before but he found the one from Old Navy easily enough had drug it with him back into the bathroom.

Thirty minutes, and most of the building's hot water later, he emerged from the sauna like room, dressed in dark blue jeans and a simple white button down shirt. The jeans were crisp and snugger then he was used to, riding disturbingly low on his slim hips. The sleeves were a bit long, hanging low almost to the tips of his fingers and he absently rolled them up to his elbows.

Socks were dug out of the mess of lingerie and boxes were consulted for several minutes as he perused the collection of shoes Dawn had selected for him—finally settling on a pair of black high tops. Willow was really trying to make up for her bad news.

He was at the door when a tousled blonde head sat up on the couch. Spike looked at him with wide blue eyes that blinked slowly to bring him into focus, "Whe—"

"Go back to sleep—I'm just going to swing a trip to Casa Summers to see what's what for today."

The vampire squinted at him in the low light of the living room, "What about work?"

_Shoot_, he paused, thinking; he couldn't call in like this, "I—I'll get Willow to call them for me." he swallowed thickly, looking away as the headache made itself reacquainted with his eyes.

Nodding slowly, the head disappeared and the apartment became deathly silent once more except for the painful thud his blood as it echoed hollowly in his temple.

Xander squared his shoulders and reached for the door handle. Mentally gearing himself up to face the girls, he stepped out into the cool hallway and locked the door behind him…

* * *

It was later then he had expected by the time Xander arrived on Revello Drive. The house was bustling with potentials as they snacked, cleaned weapons or did whatever else teenage girls do between slayer training sessions. He paused on the threshold of the room, thoughts whirling as he considered the implications of what that suggested.

"Hey, you going to close the door or what?"

The impatient voice of one of the girls startled him and he slammed the door closed, tripping over the short hall rug in the process. Someone snickered softly and he felt his cheeks redden uncontrollably. Straightening his spine in what was quickly becoming a defensive posture, Xander stomped past the gaggle of eyes, making sure to interrupt their view of the TV on his way, and hurried into the kitchen. He found Willow there, piling dirty dishes in the sink; she looked up as he entered and smiled softly.

"You just missed breakfast."

His face rearranged itself to match her smile, "Darn—there isn't anything left either, is there?"

Grabbing up a clean towel she dried the blue ceramic bowl in her hands and handed it to him, "Grab a spoon. I think all we've got left is raisin bran, but if that's ok…?"

"Thanks Wills, maybe some aspirin too while you're at it?" he gave her a pleading look and small sheepish crooked smile.

Frowning just slightly, she rifled through a drawer near the sink, coming up with a white bottle of generic pain relief capsules. Shaking out two, she set them onto the counter next to his bowl, now filled with milky cereal. She leaned a hip against the island and watched him pick through the cornflakes and bobbing raisins, "You sure you're ok? I—I know it's got to be hard—"

"No Wills," he grimaced slightly into the bowl, eyes fixed on his spoon, "You really can't know. I mean, when... even when you were, you know, Warren-" Xander cut himself off, looked away.

Her face fell slightly, mouth tightening into a brave line as she took that in, shook her head. Gently she touched the back of his hand where it rested on the table. He met her sorrowful eyes and turned his hand over to thread their fingers together.

Dawn bounced through the kitchen door, breaking the moment and sidling up to the brunette with a smile on her face. She tugged gently at the hem of his shirt, "Morning there, you look great!" turning to Willow, her eyes widening slightly, "Don't you think so?"

The red head blinked, her hand slipping out of his as she straightened, "Uh, y—yes, they, I meant to say something…" she trailed off, stuttering slightly, shrugging when Dawn rolled her eyes in exasperation.

"So," the younger girl hopped up onto the stool next to Xander and grabbed the last orange out of the fruit bowl, "What are you going to do?"

He swallowed another bite of cereal and shrugged, "What can I do—you both said there's no undoing this. At least, we don't know of a way yet. Because let me tell you, this is not me giving up forever on my penis. Just... god."

Dawn rolled her eyes and made an _eww_ face, "No—I meant, are you going to start training with the others. You know, now that it looks like you're one of the sister potentials and everything?"

Shrugging again, Xander stirred his milk around, collecting the last couple pieces of soggy bran and popping them into his mouth, "I dunno… I mean, nothing's really changed. I'm still just human, average…Jane."

Willow frowned softly again, "You're not 'just average', you're…Xander, girl Xander sure, but," She took the empty bowl and poured the excess milk out into the sink, "Maybe it's just too soon?"

"Sure Wills."

The two girl's eyes met over the top of his head and were troubled…

* * *

That was that then, being smaller officially sucked. He ducked under the demon's wildly swinging arm, rolling across the grass and coming up behind it. His arms ached from the weight of the ax in his hands but he valiantly hoisted it up and swung into the creature's lower back.

The blade clanged dully against what he belatedly recognized as some sort of jointed bone plating exoskeleton… thing. With a roar it turned, grabbing him up by the throat and carelessly flinging him into the side of a mossy crypt wall some twenty feet away.

He fell to the crinkly dry grass with a moan, his back erupting in pain—_god, I hope I didn't just fracture something._The two potentials he had been patrolling with ran at the thing, screaming like banshees, aiming their own weapons for the little protrusions of soft, fleshy bits_—way to look like experience guy there Xander._ The effort was mostly ineffectual though it did seem to piss the thing off and leave it limping so that when a flash of blonde hair appeared in their midst, and a sharp *crunch* was quickly heard.

Spike dropped the limp figure, wiping his hands off on his jeans as he jogged over to the crypt. Xander had already pulled himself into a standing position and was relieved when no acutely stabbing pains made themselves evident. He could feel the vampire's eyes on him as he picked at the flecks of grass stuck to his new pair of jeans.

He had been trying for jokingly ironic but when the words lingered in the air, the waver in them was clear to anyone, "Well, guess I'm starting a new 'patrol collection' huh?"

"Yeah," an eyebrow arched slowly, "You ok?"

"Fine," he wiped harder at the stains, uncaring that he was only making them worse, it was something to do with his hands, something to concentrate on other then the black clad figure staring at him. "Nothings broken," he held up a hand quickly to forestall anymore questions, "No concussion either. I'm fine, just… ruined a brand new pair of jeans, s'all. Thanks." His mouth snapped closed with a click as he realized he was babbling.

The vampire nodded slowly and turned to the SIT's, "Buffy's just over the hill there, go help her, the rest of this is clear."

They nodded, shouldering their weapons, voices rising and falling as they walked away.

He turned back to the brunette, "Are you sure—"

"Yes Spike, I'm _sure_," Xander snapped irritably, straightening the collar of his jacket—a trendy black trench like coat which Dawn had insisted he get. "Look, sorry, I—I'm going to just take a bit of a walk ok? Go… catch up with Buffy or something." He turned away without waiting for an answer and began walking to the front of the graveyard, relieved when no booted footsteps followed him.

It was dark but a ½ moon and a smattering of stars lit the ground sporadically as they moved in and out of the pollution cloud cover. Yellow street lights had winked on along the road at intervals, enough so that he allowed his mind wander as he walked without too much worry.

As he walked though, something began to whisper in the dark, like scales sliding across his skin, harsh and rasping. Quiet and growing louder and then dieing down again. It was like the caress of a lover whose touch he never wanted to know more intimately. He stopped, shivering, it felt to close suddenly, so near at hand and it was louder now too.

"_Just a lost little girl now aren't you? No matter what They may think they have done so cleverly. You'll die right along with the rest of them…"_

Raucous voices from around the corner punctured the bubble around him, ripping apart the gossamer strands of…whatever that had been. He could feel it shattering around him like a bubble does when it is touched. Tiny glass shards he could have sworn he could feel as they melted away.

Shivering harshly, Xander wrapped the coat closer around his body and looked up as the sound of approaching footsteps stopped. There were six—_no, seven_—seven; tall, broad shouldered and dressed in jeans, polo shirts and sweaters. College guys then, and ex-football players too probably. It was always ex-football players. They were shit faced too by the looks of it and eyeing him with glazed interest.

His eyes flickered from one to the next as they fanned out in a rough half circle around him. Running was an option, but whether he could get back to the cemetery before they caught up—inebriated or not—or whether Buffy would even still be there loomed like giant question marks in the air above him. All he was certain of was that he really didn't like those looks…or those odds for that matter.

Taking a hesitant step back he found himself tripping over the heels of someone behind him. Spinning around he was almost overpowered by the smell of cheep bear and stale chips coming from the guy's breathe as he exhaled down on him. He couldn't stop the quiet, "Fuck." As it slipped from his lips but he really wished he had tried harder to stem it when the other man's lips turned up in a sneer.

"Soon enough sweetheart."

More then official, being smaller was really starting to suck. At least if he had been his normal size he could have stood a chance of taking a couple of them down with him; now though—of course, if he had been in his normal state this particular problem would never have presented itself in the first place.

He held up his hands in a warding gesture, wishing he had thought to grab his ax before taking off as he tried to ease away from what he was going to take a wild guess and say was the ringleader. He'd really liked that ax too, it fit nicely in his hands, or it had, of course now it was more like a lead weight after a measly fifteen minutes. But nevertheless, it would have been nice to have on hand, for show if nothing else. Women waving sharp metal objects around had always seemed pretty threatening to him.

The guy lunged forward, less awkward on his feet then Xander had expected and obviously somewhat less drunk then his companions. His fingers were like steel bars clamping down on his slender arm, easily circling the bicep and tugging him back close to the guy's rancid breath. He tensed under the manhandling, struggling vainly against the grip, free arm coming up and pushing against the thick chest.

"Let me go!"

Smiling crookedly he leaned closer in the brunette's face, "Don't think so pretty."

His heart was hammering wildly in his chest, faster then he could remember since that first dark night in an alley so long ago. Desperation fueled his attempts but nothing was clicking with this new body as a second arm wrapped around his waist, hauling him up onto a thigh shoved roughly between his legs. A sob choked in his throat and he knew his wrists would be badly bruised by morning…among other things.

One minute a hot, sticky tongue was sweeping rudely up the curve of his straining neck and then the next it was gone, leaving him to stumble and fall onto his ass. His head spun before the ache from the ground cleared his vision to the blur of confusion around him, familiar blonde hair and pained drunken shouts in the dark.

He was shaking; shaking and he couldn't seem to figure out why, let alone how to stop it. The world was deathly still, frozen, silent, everything sharp and bright suddenly where there had only been dark. And he couldn't stop shaking. His blood was too loud in his ears, the thundering inside his head, heart still pounding against his rib cage, making him sweat.

Someone was standing close by, not quite towering over him, not quite hovering. Quiet, just waiting and trying not to startle him, as if he were a wild animal that would disappear if given half a stupid reason. Spike—how had the vampire gotten here? He couldn't remember, just the vague sensation of darkness springing from no where and yanking him loose before setting into the crowd of frat boys.

The sharp acrid tang of freshly spilt blood hung heavily in the air. Thick and cloying at his sense, some of it his own from a cut on his lip he couldn't even remember receiving, but most of it _theirs_. He couldn't seem to care, didn't want to.

A tentative hand reached out in the gloom to touch his hair. Like a butterfly , so soft he would have missed its feel were he not so hypersensitive. It passed briefly over the wild mess before flitting away, withdrawing back to its owner. He regretted the loss almost immediately.

Bruises on his arms but only there by morning, he could still feel where hands had gripped too tight. He shivered, the night feeling altogether too cold. He wished he had thought to drive that night; it seemed too much to be expected to walk all the way home.

Everything just seemed too,_ too, too…_

"Xander?" the voice was soft, hesitant. It startled him, not a tone ever really used in conjuncture with his mental image of Spike.

Blinking in the silver half-light he looked up into blue eyes, the shaking growing harder. He must be losing it; that was the only explanation for the sensation building up inexorably inside his guts. The sound of internalized crashing, thundering; a tsunami without the wave. It clawed at his throat, clogging it and choking him until he gasped, reaching up with a hand to grip at the sensation.

Looking away, eyes closing as the shaking grew worse and harsh sobs gathered deep in his windpipe. He scrambled at the feeling—swallowing—desperate not to cry in front of the vampire he was aware of in a distant way.

The hand returned, touching his cheek, wiping away tears he hadn't even been conscious of, silent, nothing reproachful or condescending in his manner.

"Come on Harris, lets get you home, yeah?" another hand tapped uncertainly at his elbow, testing. He stood, stumbling and leaning against the proffered support, listening to the soft words, "Or, would you rather go to the girls' house? Dawn'll be there—"

Shaking his head he forced his body to calm, stilling it somewhat. He couldn't quite get the words themselves out but he hoped his answer was clear nevertheless. There would be questions, kindly meant questions but ones which he just couldn't face, didn't even want to think about the sort of answers that would be required.

Spike seemed to hesitate for a moment before finally shrugging and turning them both in the direction of Xander's apartment. He followed, letting the vampire lead while his mind retreated back into itself. Probably not the smartest thing to do but he couldn't find the energy to care about that either.

TBC


	10. Chapter Ten

**Title: **The Mutare Possibilitas (10/?)

**Author: **Winter M.

**Rating: **PG-13

**Spoilers:** S.7 of BtVS, set directly after "First Date" spoils through the end of S.7

**Pairing: **Xander/Spike eventually

**Warnings:** Slash (eventually), magical genderbender

**Summary:** Xander was tired of attracting all the demony women so someone else decided to fix that little problem for him… only it wasn't quite what one would expect.

**A/N: **In need of a beta if anyone out there is interested. Mostly just looking for a second pair of eyes to catch typos, mistakes and confusing bits. Sorry for the slowness with getting this chapter out, I am so out of practice working on updates regularly. I start and then I let it percolate and come back and realize two weeks have flown by without my realizing.

* * *

Xander woke with a start, eyes snapping open and his breath catching in his throat. Pale morning sunlight cut across the floor of his bedroom, warmth, soothing. The apartment around him was still and quiet; he breathed, in and out, furiously settling his nerves. He rolled out of the bed carefully, his lower back stiff from patrol, his shoulder tweaking a little from- after.

"Jesus," Xander scrubbed a hand across his face and shied away from the memory. He had a long history of compartmentalizing all the shit that tended to happen to him, but this... not even the memory of Faith really compared with this.

"Hey."

He met Spike's neutral gaze from the bedroom door, carefully shrouded in the shadow of the door. His posture was relaxed, almost impudent, but his eyes were sharp. Xander looked away quickly, "What time is it?"

"Little after nine."

"Great, great I should..." he trailed off. It hit him then, like a ton of bricks, that he really had no where to go. No construction down at the school, no job, not even research as futile as it had been thus far.

"Tell me something Spike, how in the hell is this better?"

The vampire shifted a little uncomfortably, eyes cutting across the mess of his bed to the window, the sunlight and back.

"That- demon, or whatever, who did this to me, I remember all he did was stand there yammering about destiny and paths not taken and potential so I gotta ask, where is it huh? Where is this," he gestured violently to encompass his body, the room, the pile of girl clothes by the closet, "any of this better? I'm still me, just plain ol' Xan-man, only now I'm even smaller and weaker and- shit." He threw himself back onto the bed, staring dolefully up at the pristine white ceiling. He didn't hear Spike move but a minute later the vampire entered his field of vision, poised at the edge of his bed and careful of the light.

"So that's it then? Gonna sit around feeling sorry for yourself? Pretty typical innit?"

"Hey!" Xander glared but Spike just raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. It was a tiny glimpse of the old Spike, soulless and unrelenting, perfectly willing to cut to the heart of the matter. He pushed himself off the bed, throwing an elbow in the vamps' direction, missing, "that is not helpful."

"Neither is this little pity party," uncertainty flitted across Spike's face but then Xander watched him draw in a deep breath and smooth out his features into a perfectly disdainful mask.

"So what do you suggest oh great fanged one?"

"Get up," Spike stuck out a hand, Xander surprised himself by taking it, letting the other man haul him effortlessly off the bedroom floor and to his feet, "get even."

"Even?"

"Well, maybe not even per say," he frowned, the mask slipping. "You're not useless Harris."

"There's something I never expected to hear come out of your mouth."

"Don't let it get to your head."

Despite himself, Xander found he had to squash a smile that threatened to lighten his mood, "Wouldn't dream of it."

"Good, yeah, I'm just saying, I understand-" Xander watched with interest as the vampire bit off his sentence, grinding his teeth and dropping his hand like it was suddenly on fire.

"I guess you would know something about fate throwing a wrench in your life." Spike snorted indelicately and looked up again, the lush curve of his mouth curling- hold on a second. Xander coughed violently and slapped himself in the face, scrubbing harshly, bursting into motion. He most definitely had not thought the words 'Spike' 'mouth' and '_lush_' together in the same sentence, no sirree. He skirted around the now frowning vampire and began grabbing clothes and shoes at random, his mouth running off a burble of nonsense as he managed to collect and drop several outfits before finally escaping the situation entirely and fleeing to the bathroom.

He did not care how insane this made him. It was just Spike, he did not care what Spike thought. He did not think any bits of Spike were- damnit -lush.

Xander washed swiftly, mind carefully locked down, hands efficient. He didn't dwell over the soft mounds of his breasts, the hard, tight nipples, or the swell of his waist. He lathered, rinsed, shoved the faucet over to frigid and pulled a towel over his head in record time, and if he felt a a hot, twisty tingle down low in his stomach, a sort of squirmy ache between his thighs- well it didn't matter, because he certainly didn't feel either of those sensations either.

* * *

The thing about crazy was, Spike knew crazy. He had ridden on that train a time or two, as a passenger and as a conductor thank you very much. So when people said things like, 'call me crazy' or 'I think I may be going a bit daft' he could roll his eyes without a single shred of irony involved, because all things being unequal, he had crazy well and covered.

In a moment, he could be completely raving loony bins again, but right at this moment, Spike was stone cold sane. And Harris had definitely smelled of dark, hot arousal, right before he flushed prettily with embarrassment and ran away. Girl was a surprisingly good look on the boy.

No doubt the human expected him to make himself scarce while he was busy showering but Spike felt a lingering sense of camaraderie and more than a little curiosity regarding Xander's reaction to his proximity this morning. He chose to busy himself in the kitchen, banging around prepping a mug of blood, setting out a bowl and the box of cereal as an afterthought. When Xander emerged from the shower almost half an hour later, damp, pink and fresh faced, Spike watched his progression through the apartment with sharp, hooded eyes.

It took Xander a few minutes to notice his presence, already halfway across the kitchen and startling badly. Spike took a cool sip of blood but gave no indication that he'd noticed anything amiss.

"Uh... thanks," the human gestured at the breakfast supplies and awkwardly set about making himself a bowl, settling onto a stool after he was finished and tucking in with too much enthusiasm.

"Are you planning on letting Buffy know what happened last night?"

Xander visibly tensed and dropped his spoon back into the milk, "Nothing actually happened so I'm thinking, no." He cast a challenging look Spike's direction before he resumed eating. A beat, then, "That means they better not hear anything out of you either fangless."

Spike growled, irritated and carelessly tossed his mug into the sink. He stalked up close behind the human and murmured close in his ear, "Not so fangless anymore, rather the point innit." He sighed suddenly and backed off, watching the other man tense and remain so, wound up tight over his forgotten breakfast. This wasn't the direction Spike had intended the conversation to go at all. The soul didn't so much make socializing easier, just made it harder to ignore the guilt acting like a douche inevitably inspired.

"Damnit Spike I know ok? I know. I realize how utterly useless I am, thank you ever so much, I don't need a reminder from _you_," Xander blew out a frustrated breath and began clearing the table with jerky movements.

"I don't recall saying anything about useless now did I? Just said maybe you should talk to your mates, yeah? Keep 'em informed is all." He caught Xander's suspicious glance and made an exasperated expression, "What Harris? Seven years tagging along fighting at the Slayer's heels, brand new body or not, you honestly think that hasn't left an impression?"

"What are you saying exactly? I mean, let's be realistic here, sure I may know how to swing a sword but if I was weaker and slower than everything that goes bump in the night before this great.. whatever, then I'm even more so now. Even Andrew is taller than me for god's sakes."

"I think you'd be surprised," Spike shrugged, interest wearing thin. Cheerleader and motivational speaker was hardly his job, "Just gotta learn how that hot little body works. Plus Willow said she thinks you're a potential now anyways, might find you've inherited a whole new collection of instincts along with the tits."

Xander blushed deeply in spite of himself, Spike could practically feel the way all the blood fluttered through his body, tantalizingly close to the skin.

"That's all I'm saying, do what you will with, Lord knows you will, whatever," he made a little gesture, like washing his hands when Xander refused to look at him. "You want, I could help you out with that."

The brunette still wouldn't look over but his heart rate accelerated subtly, "Why would you do that?"

"Boredom mostly," Spiker snorted, "gimme something to do besides sit in the basement or scaring little girls now wouldn't it." Finally Xander looked up at that, smirking a little.

"Yeah, okay, I guess that makes sense. I uh - I should probably check in with Dawn, see what's cooking but maybe later, before patrol tonight..."

"Sure, whatever. Pick up some blood too while you're out?"

Xander grimaced, "Ugh, gross, it's nice to know things never change," but he made an 'okay okay already' gesture and shooed Spike away while he found shoes and his wallet. The vampire smirked a little to himself before seeking dark, cool refuge in his closet. A few minutes later the front door closed with a firm click and he closed his eyes to the retreating rhythm of the boy's thrumming heartbeat.

* * *

TBC


End file.
